Let your heart be light
by beautifulwhensarcastic
Summary: Steve feels lost and abandoned on Christmas, but maybe there is some hope... Someone brings him light and warmth. This is the story of Steve and Cath's first Christmas together.
1. Chapter 1

_Thank you everyone, who sent all the kind messages and reviews. I wish you all Merry Christmas! Hope you will spend it surrounded by love, calmness and warmth. Be full of hope and love dearies. And to all of us, I wish that the New Year will bring Catherine back to us (and to Steve) :) _

_I always like to explore Steve and Cath's past, how they built their relationship, how it developed. And Christmas is one of those moments that brings so many emotions and gestures, showing how much they mean to each other._

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_For anyone, who is interested, I am also posting fics (this included) on AO3, which is better for me, because I often 'touch' explicit contents. This story is M-rated, because of a short smut scene in second chapter._

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**_**Chapter 1**_**

The bright screen fades slowly into blankness, flecks of light shimmering on the surface, blurring his own reflection as he stares at the device in his hand. The pain of hearing the disappointment in his sister's voice deepens as the mirthful sounds of some kids outside singing Jingle Bells creep through the ajar window. He doesn't even want to take a peek - seeing the colourful cavalry of families, carefree siblings, mothers holding their kids' hands, definitely won't brighten his mood, which had already begun to shatter when everyone at the Academy started their joyful talk of Christmas reunions.

Not that Steve blames them, he still can remember how much he loved the Christmas season as a kid. The preparations, scavenger hunts with Mary in search of hidden presents, trying to be sneaky and sip on some eggnog. And even if his mother wasn't the best cook, the turkey often being too dry, or the cake too sweet, nonetheless those Christmases were the best ones.

It's hard to think now of the last time he had spent the holidays with a sparkle of joy in his heart.

Aunt Deb's attempt to get him to visit her on Christmas was touching and a part of him wanted to go, but his and Mary's paths had grown so much apart that it seemed like a scenario for a big tragedy with tears, emptiness and pain, with a wave of bitterness swallowing all the good mood as their father would call with Christmas wishes, reminding them that they once had a home, of which he threw them out.

Spending Christmas break in Annapolis is in Steve's opinion the best alternative, providing an opportunity to be in peace and avoid the pain, to not see the blame in his little sister's eyes.

But also bringing the realization of helpless loneliness.

He grits his teeth, forcing himself to keep on believing that solitude strengths the character, preparing for the future, when it really will be impossible to spend holidays with family all the time, depending on his deployment orders.

Yet, needles of sadness prickle his skin, piercing through the layer of a tough sailor and bringing out that core of a scared, lost boy, who will be all alone on Christmas, with no one to care for him.

The chaos of thoughts evoked by self-blame takes over, whispering in a menacing scoff that he's guilty of this situation, pushing away his sister and aunt, but the tiny voice points out that if they really wanted to spend Christmas with him, they'd try harder. They'd find a way. They'd come here.

Why should he always be the one trying so hard and reaching out in a desperate plead for someone to come for him?

The phone lands on the bed as Steve drops it abruptly to roughly press the heels of his palms to his eyes, in an attempt to rub away the annoying stinging of tears threatening to spill. He scolds himself mentally, forcing himself to get a grip, taking deep, shaky breaths.

Readjusting his focus on the small duffel bag and unpacking it in slow, concentrated moves helps to change the course of his thoughts, pushing them to the back of his mind, just like he's stuffing folded shirts to the bottom shelf of the wardrobe - he won't need them anyway. Before the emotions get a chance to resurface as he finishes unpacking everything in the Navy's required order, Steve quickly changes the object of his attention, reaching for the remote.

A colourful, merry wave of Christmas movies is no surprise as he changes the channels, skipping the laughing faces and tingling carols at the speed of light. He settles on a cooking program, which of course also has a festive theme, but it's actually something he can stand.

A sudden knocking on his door makes Steve tense, hand clenching on the remote as his head snaps up, eyes staring at the door in surprise.

Renting an adjusted room with a small kitchenette and en suite bathroom on the second floor of a private tenement precluded any chance of room service knocking on his door and he was sure the owners were too busy with their own Christmas preparations to bother him.

As the knocking repeats, Steve abruptly stands up, lowering the volume of the TV and cautiously stepping toward the door.

His hearts stops, when he opens the door and his gaze falls upon a familiar silhouette slightly trembling from the cold. The duffel bag is clutched closely to her body as if to provide additional warmth, and her frost-blushed cheeks and equally pinked nose peek from above the navy blue scarf, dark hair pulled back in a tight knot.

Eyes scan her up and down with disbelief, his mind trying to process how it's possible that she's here, wondering even if he is mistaking some random person for her.

But as she pulls the scarf down, uncovering her whole face and smiles brightly at him - a smile which he could never forget or mistake - he loses any doubts.

"Catherine?" his voice comes out hoarse and cracking far too much than he'd like to reveal, the timbre of emotions still bubbling beneath his skin betraying him.

How is he supposed to shut it down and act as if he's not affected, when she stands mere metres from him, appearing in the moment when he is feeling the most lost and forsaken?

"Hello, Sailor," the sound of her voice does something to his heart, tugging on it and spreading a tingle of warmth through his body.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asks surprised, thinking that by now she'd already be on her way to the airport.

"Well, I was looking for you on the square, but you clearly fled," Cath chuckles, her gloved hand points at him in mock accusation, "Figured you're already unpacking in the warmth of your room, so chased you down here. And bruised my ass on the way," she adds, scrunching up her nose and rubbing the sore spot with her red glove, "Former ice skater apparently does not do well on a slippery pavement."

He stares at her in mild confusion and a new surge of guilt creeps in as he realizes he acted like a potential asshole, not saying goodbye properly or wishing her Merry Christmas.

With the mass of people laughing and hugging, families waiting to pick some plebes up, he wanted nothing more than to disappear. Selfishly, but the thought about meeting with Catherine never crossed his mind, too occupied with trying to run before the tears started to fall. And he feels bad about it now.

"Umm, sorry," Steve sighs, his eyes drifting down, ashamed to look at her directly, "I'm sorry for not saying goodbye and wishing you Merry Christmas."

"Steve," the way she says his name makes him look up immediately, staring wide-eyed as she softly speaks, "I'm not here to say goodbye."

The intention behind her words would be clear to him in any other situation, especially combined with the affection shimmering in her eyes, but the wall of sadness and abandonment issues slow down the processing, erasing that tiny spark of hope. Until he hears it falling out of her mouth.

"I want to spend Christmas with you."

And it finally dawns on him. Something that should be obvious, but a part of him doesn't want to believe it, scared it's a wish that's going to be taken away like all the other ones. And it hits him with her slowly spoken words, "I'm not going back to Colorado. I'm spending Christmas with you."

Steve is only able to nod shortly, before his head hangs low, chin almost touching his chest as his hand grips the doorknob tighter. All the muscles tense in an attempt to keep the control over his body, which threatens to crumble. He wants to beam up at her, reach out and embrace her, but the helplessness, which he had suppressed earlier, makes him freeze.

He fails miserably at trying to hold it back, as the gratitude and emotion bubble out in a tear he can no longer hide.

In an instant there's a soft thud of duffel bag hitting the floor and a slightly cold body pulls him in close, arms embracing tightly.

He clings to Cath desperately, burying his face in the crook of her neck, not minding the wetness of snowflakes melted on her coat. She came to him on her own will, resigning from the joyous, warm family gathering, to spend a cold, imperfect Christmas in a rented room. With him.

Catherine's heart clenches as she feels Steve trembling within her arms and she hugs him closer, holding her own tears back, which threaten to spill as she thinks of how lost and abandoned he must have felt mere minutes ago. She knows it's not a simple equation, nothing about his family's situation is easy to comprehend, and Cath is not one to be throwing stones, but a pang of anger arises as she thinks of how said family gave up fighting for him.

And maybe it's a wrong accusation, because she knows how stubborn Steve can be, but at that moment he is her only concern and she wouldn't step down from defending him.

Her name comes out in a mumble as Steve lifts his head, only to rest his forehead against hers. His breath is shaky and his lips so warm against her cold mouth.

"Thank you," Steve mutters, barely pulling away from her frosty lips.

Cath hums at the sweet contact of another kiss, warming up her whole body, making her toes curl as she inhales Steve's musky scent. She entwines her fingers behind his neck, pulling back slightly to look at him.

"Don't thank me yet," she smiles wickedly, "You have to feed me now, I'm starving." Steve reciprocates her grin in a flash, the shards of tears still glistening in his eyes bringing out the clear blue of his irises.

"I will gladly do that," he chuckles, leaning down to pick up her bag, "But I think some shopping is in order to do that," sheepish admission reddens the tips of his ears. He has a pack of rice and goji bars, but it's definitely not something he wants to serve Cath. Damn, he's ready to buy lamb chops and cook for her.

Catherine's laughter is contagious, he can't help beaming up as she ruffles his hair while he closes the door behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

_This chapter contains slightly explicit smut, so be warned. M rated for a reason._

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**_**Chapter 2**_**

Stubby toes curl at the feeling of cold prickling skin and in a sharp move the feet pull up, tangling in the covers, hiding away from the chill.

Steve's hand slips slowly across the mattress, fingers eagerly searching for the soft, warm body, but he finds only a lukewarm spot, where she must've been lying mere minutes ago. With a disgruntled huff he rolls over, duvet wrapping around him like a nice, snugly vice. The light that seeps through his lidded eyes is crisp and bright, but the silence in the air suggest it's early, probably too early for his liking.

The faint smell of something sweet and familiar reaches his nostrils, nudging him to open at least one eye. His slightly blurry vision focuses on a silhouette nearby, illuminated by the morning light. Steve opens both of his eyes, smile slowly spreading on his lips as he takes in the sight.

Cath is sitting by the kitchenette counter, one leg bent, feet propped on the second stool, the other tapping quietly on the wooden floor.

Steve's eyes sparkle appreciatively at the sight of her naked body clad only in his dark grey hoodie.

The material reaches her mid-thigh, but with her current position Steve has a very delicious view from his spot on the bed.

"Morning," she smiles, fingers clenching on the big mug she holds in both her hands, bringing it close to her mouth and blowing on the hot beverage. "It's barely past six," she says between sips, "So you can roll back to sleep."

"Mhmm," Steve stifles a yawn and props his head on his hand, cheeky smile curving his lips, "Not sleepy anymore. The view definitely woke me up."

He doesn't even try to hide his grin as he deliberately shifts his gaze to her slightly parted thighs.

Catherine's snort and a bubble of mirth that follows make her upper body shake, drawing Steve's attention to the roundness of her breasts, faintly visible through the thick fabric.

"Well __you __look like a cozy burrito," she scoffs at him and takes another sip, slurping loudly. Steve frowns at her before turning his head to glance at his body, which indeed is tightly wrapped in the covers, the duvet pulled up to his chin. His dishevelled hair sticking up in all directions and pillow creases printed on his face make Cath giggle.

With a theatrical gesture Steve pushes the covers away, the fabric rustling as it falls around his hips. "Do I have your approval now, Rollins?" he smirks, when her gaze drifts to the uncovered dark thatch of hair low on his abdomen.

"Almost," Cath tilts her head to the side, purposely keeping her eyes locked on his hips, before shifting to look at his face. Putting the mug on the counter, she stands up, stretching with a hum - arms reaching up, causing the hem of the hoodie to slide up.

"Nghh, just come here already!" Steve's impatient growl evokes a tingle of laughter, followed by a mischievous smirk.

Deliberately, she stretches more, pushing her chest forward and swaying on her tiptoes, letting her hand slide down her neck when she relaxes back. Her fingers play with the strings on his hoodie, as she steps towards the bed. "Patience is not your virtue," she snorts while kneeling on the mattress, but not making a move towards him, which causes Steve to huff.

"I'm getting cold here," he nudges her with his foot, grumbling at another salvo of melodic laughter that falls from her mouth.

He really is getting cold, chilly air swishing over his skin, tempting to pull up the covers and bury himself underneath them. Damn, he needs to work on surviving the cold more, especially considering his future career steps. Finally Cath gives in to his pout, crawling slowly over him, knees on both sides of his hips. The tips of her dark strands of hair graze Steve's skin, sending a pleasurable shiver down his spine. Which is nothing compared to the sensation caused by her hips pushing down, making contact with his pelvis.

Cath blows little warm puffs onto his torso and up his neck, until she reaches his mouth, nudging it playfully with her lips. "Better now?" she asks, kissing him slowly as she lowers her body, pressing into him fully, the softness of the hoodie warming Steve's chest.

"Very much so," his husky response vibrates on her lips as he captures them in a slow, deepening rhythm. The sweet flavour lingering on Cath's palate melts on his tongue and he recognizes now her choice of morning drink - cocoa.

Sliding his hands up her thighs, Steve grabs her ass possessively and kneads to urge the slow tempo in which she's rocking against him. "Past six?" he murmurs between kisses, "So lots of time before heading out for Christmas shopping." At his words Cath pulls back slightly, chuckling in disbelief, "You want to go Christmas shopping?"

"Of course," Steve states seriously, like speaking of a planned assignment, "We need a Christmas tree. And maybe," he adds with a wicked glint in his eyes, "Some red __wrapping __for you?"

Catherine's laughter evades quickly, when he pulls her down, hand on the back of her head as he explores her mouth greedily. Hips pushing up to meet the rough grinding motion, which grows urgent and crazy way too fast, rushing his blood south. He grips her hips, steadying the movement until it's a gentle swaying, hotness pressing against his stiffening cock.

As Steve's hand travels upwards under the fabric, skimming along her sides, Cath moves, ready to take off the hoodie, but he makes no attempt to help her with it. Instead he cups her breasts, fingers brushing over hardened nipples. The sudden pinch, tweaking the peaks, elicits a long moan. Catherine's hips slam down sharply, slick folds rubbing against Steve's cock, making him jerk.

The pace of their love making is chaotic, switching every few minutes from sweet exploring to needy fucking.

Long kisses, until they both gasp for breath, as Cath rocks her hips ever so slowly, keeping Steve's dick fully engulfed inside of her. Then her cries and whimpers, when he rolls them over, setting a rough, fast pace.

With Steve's fingers rubbing her clit, Catherine comes two times before he lets himself go. Curling up, she presses her forehead against his sweaty shoulder, fingers digging into his back desperately as tremors of a small, undone orgasm shake her body when Steve comes with a hoarse cry.

Cath's skin is sweaty, the thick, soft fabric clinging to her body, making her feel too hot, but she doesn't protest when Steve drapes the covers over them as they lay tangled, both heavily panting.

One of his hands is drawing small circles on her back, slipping on the drops of sweat slowly trickling down, the other entwined with hers where it rests upon his chest. He smiles at the funny murmur as Cath snuggles closer, rubbing the tip of her cold nose against his chest to warm it up. Her eyes are closed, his own eyelids feeling heavy, but neither of them is actually sleepy, it's more of a blissful relaxation state.

"Cath?" he taps his fingers against the skin of her palm, gentle touch matching the slow rhythm of a Christmas carol's melody, which some art musician has started playing outside, "I am really happy that you're here, but... weren't your parents mad?"

She opens her eyes and tilts her head back, to look up at him, not really surprised that his gaze is focused on the ceiling. He tends to stare at blank spots whenever he is thinking intensively about something strongly connected to emotions, or fighting with guilt creeping in. A part of her, that strongly overprotective part, wants to spare him from all of it, but she knows that honesty would be much more appreciated. And she'd never lie to him.

"Well, they weren't happy, that's for sure," Catherine replies sincerely, "And I understand it, but even my mom's tears wouldn't make me change my mind."

Steve turns his head, looking at her in an instant, a freshly stirred emotion shimmering in his eyes. He doesn't remember when the last time someone did anything like this for him was, especially considering how rarely she got to see her parents.

"You know," she moves her hand to touch his face, "My dad wasn't thrilled about it, but he... understood. He really understood why I stayed."

Steve swallows hard, whispering gratitude for Captain Rollins in his mind. Whether it was because of him knowing some parts of Steve's history, or simply understanding the tough demands of Navy life, the most important thing is that he understood.

Clearing his throat and blinking away the blurry vision of emotions clouding his eyes, Steve wraps his fingers around Cath's wrist and brings her hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of her palm. "So," the change in his tone is distinct and Cath knows the emotional conversation is finished, at least for now, "I think a solid breakfast is in order, before we head out to the winter wonderland."

"You really want a Christmas tree," she smiles at him, still slightly disbelieving that a very practical Steve McGarrett wants to spend his low budget on a tree, which they will have to abandon in the next week.

"I do," he nods, pulling her body on top of his, "If I were alone, I wouldn't. But with you," he pauses to kiss her softly, "With you I want the whole package."

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Skeptically eyeing the large, bushy tree, which looks like it would probably fill the whole space of their small room, Cath sighs, "Steve."

"Yeah?" his response is muffled as he stands on the other side of the giant tree, checking whatever he thinks needs to be checked. The eagerness with which he had brought her to the small Christmas tree market a few blocks from their tenement, his pace impatiently quickening every few steps and then slowing down with a sheepish smile, made Cath's heart swell. But the slightly crazy idea of buying a really big tree is something she needs to tame, before he really does it.

Shaking her head, she steps around the tree to find him lying down, his upper body under the lower branches. "Steve," she pokes his ankle with her boot, "We can't buy this one."

"Sure we can," his carefree reply followed by a sudden spurt of spitting, makes her chuckle.

She waits for him to finally emerge from underneath the tree, brushing a few pine needles off his jacket as he straightens. With a grin she reaches to his hair, picking few green flecks stuck in his strands. The simple, but tender gesture makes Steve freeze for a moment, responding with a matching smile.

"Steve," she tries again, looking at him knowingly, "We really can't buy this one. For once," holding up her hand, she stops him before he interrupts her, "It's too big for that small space we have. Secondly, too expensive."

"I have money saved," he argues, sounding a bit like a kid wanting to buy a toy so much that he offers spending his own piggy bank money on it. "Come on, Cath," he motions to the branches, a lively shade of deep green, covered in snowflakes, "It's a beautiful tree."

"It is," Catherine agrees, "__But __you can't spend all your money on a Christmas tree, which we're going to throw out soon."

Reaching for both of his hands, she entwines their gloved hands, her blue wool against the black leather. "Steve," she says firmly, "I know you want it to be perfect for us. The whole package and all. And it will, I promise. We don't need the biggest tree to make it the best Christmas," tilting her head slightly, she tugs on his hands and pulls him even closer, "Besides, Sailor, we need to think of all the other things we will need. Ornaments. Food. Eggnog. We need to compromise and plan practically. Okay?"

Avoiding her gaze for a moment, longingly glancing at the tree, he finally sighs, "Yeah."

Cath snorts, noticing the way he keeps looking at it, "You want to say goodbye? Should I leave you two, so you can have a moment?"

"Funny, Rollins," Steve rolls his eyes and turns them both around, wrapping arm around her waist as he leads them toward the section with smaller trees, "But we are not buying a tree that is even an inch shorter than you. It has to be at least your height."

"Deal," she agrees mirthfully, "You know, I saw they sell mistletoe by the west entrance..."


	3. Chapter 3

**_**Chapter 3**_**

A sip of red wine coats his tongue with a rich, fruity flavor, spreading the warmth through his body. It's a faint shiver compared to the loud thump of his heart, when Catherine stepped out of the bathroom few hours ago.

As he had adjusted the cuffs of his long-sleeved, perfectly ironed shirt, fidgeting with uneasy feeling that he might be overdressed, one look at Cath made him want to drop everything and put on dress blues to be worth of accompanying her for the evening.

She looks so beautiful. In a knee-length, green dress, which exposes half of her back, her hair in soft, cascading waves.

He can't avert his eyes from her. Even now, as she places the dishes in a small sink in an attempt to wash them, still clad in an elegant dress. Shaking his head, because __of course __she would do that, not minding what she's wearing, he takes a step towards her, briefly glancing at the TV screen, where a Christmas movie is playing quietly.

Catherine smiles at the feeling of Steve's hands sneaking around her waist, one traveling upwards on her arm, reaching for the empty glass in her hand and twisting it away from her grasp.

"Leave that," he murmurs, lips pressing to the shell of her ear, "We can do the dishes tomorrow."

Before Cath gets a chance to reply, he steps back, fingers gently wrapping around her wrist and he twirls her body around. She lands back in his arms with a soft bump, neither of them pulling back. Steve's hand rests on the small of her back, the other clasped with her own as he starts to slowly sway them to the tune quietly played on tv.

Their Christmas dinner wasn't the most perfect, actually far from resembling a proper Christmas dinner, which they both knew from back home. No turkey, no pie, and they had burned the cranberry sauce, because Steve couldn't keep his hands to himself for a few minutes. Yet, the mashed potatoes with honey glazed chicken were delicious. Steve, who never was keen on sweets, ate two slices of the chocolate-rum pudding that Cath made. They could have had only jello and it still would have been great to him.

With his fingers dancing on the softness of her bare back, he guides them across the floor in small steps. It's overwhelming, this simple ability to be so close to her, to touch her without looking around in fear they might get caught.

Sometimes even sitting next to Catherine is hard, the need to touch her skin and feel her heartbeat against his chest straining all his muscles, but knowing neither of them can cross that border. Now there are no prying eyes, no rules. And though being outside the Academy so often makes Steve feel like he loses touch with the ground under his feet, unable to fully adjust to the civilian mode, he isn't lost now. Actually wouldn't mind spending another week, month, year, with her by his side.

Steve's gaze shifts downwards to where Cath's cheek is pressed against his chest, eyes closed as she hums along with the melody, before looking ahead at the lit up Christmas tree. Dimmed blue lights cast frosty flickers all around, skimming in those few ornaments they had bought.

Stopping all his movements abruptly, he pulls away, smiling softly at her questioning look. Tugging on her hand, he walks them to the tree and sits down, pulling her along with him.

They lay on the floor, head by head, with green branches above their faces.

Cath turns her head slightly, observing Steve's profile as he peacefully stares at the game of lights and colours. A smile still lingers in the corners of his mouth, though he seems to be more in thought now, shards of sadness or nostalgia creeping in.

She closes her eyes briefly as he entwines their fingers and brings her hand to his mouth, kissing each of her knuckles, one by one.

Resting their clasped hands on his chest, he speaks quietly, "When we were kids, Mary and I would lay like that for hours. Looking at the lights between branches, listening to the Christmas movies our mom was watching, or to my dad poorly singing some tunes, while helping her bake."

The aroma of coconut cookies always brings back that flash of memory, seeing his mum stuffing freshly baked cookies into his dad's mouth, just so that would stop singing. Both of them laughing and kissing, much to his and Mary's disgruntled groans. Him and Mary eating those cookies out on the porch as their dad twined lights around the porch's pillars.

A suddenly tighter grip on Cath's fingers combined with the barely visible shake of his head indicates he tries to block a cascade of memories rushing through his head. He fights against them, Cath knows him well enough to notice the lump in his throat that he tries to swallow, blinking away the tears prickling underneath his eyelids. Steve tries to refocus, staring at the delicate palm within his hand, concentrating on the warmth that seeps through their entwined fingers.

"When I was a kid," Catherine speaks, her voice guiding Steve's thoughts away from the dark corner they were slipping to, "We moved a lot as you know, with my dad being on active duty. But for three years we lived in the same place, near my grandparents and each year we had a big family Christmas. I loved it. But then the orders came and we had to move. Dad didn't always get holiday leave. It was tough, but the real distress came when it was December. I felt like Christmas won't ever again be fully happy, they couldn't be as great as when we were celebrating all together."

She pauses for a moment, glancing at Steve to make sure her memory doesn't cause more pain, knowing he sometimes prefers to cut the topic off. But his head slightly turned towards her, watching her intently, indicates he's ready to listen and won't shut down.

"It wasn't bad, though," Cath tightens her grip, brushing her thumb over his skin soothingly, "I was laughing a lot. Sure, it wasn't the same as years before, but we grew to make happy memories and new traditions."

With a sigh she closes her eyes, trying to put it in the right words, though sometimes no words are the right ones, when someone has a hole in their heart.

"Every future Christmas won't be the same as you had in your childhood, but it doesn't mean they will be bad," she says, "Someday. With someone... You will create your own, new traditions and find they actually make you happy."

Silence falls, stretching those few long seconds in which neither of them looks at the other, until Steve once again brings Catherine's hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "I'd like to make __this __a tradition," he motions to their joined hands and turns to look at her fully, "You with me on Christmas."

"I'd like that, Steve," reaching her fingers to brush away the glitter from the ornaments that's sprinkled all over his cheek, Cath leans in, placing a sound kiss to his lips.

Both hum in unison as they pull apart, eyes half-closed, their noses touching. Steve's soft chuckle vibrates on her lips, when the flecks of glitter stuck to his cheek appear to be smeared on her blushed cheek. Lights shimmer in her brown irises, golden sparks enticing him and Steve finds it really hard to look away, not only with her beauty holding him in awe, but she sees right through him, and feeling so exposed to her freezes him in place.

And for once it doesn't bother or terrify him. He feels like there won't ever be enough of time to repay for everything Catherine does for him. Though his debt to her friendship and care is already endless now, he knows he will always come back for more.

"Hmm, I still regret not giving you a proper gift," he says, frowning slightly. When he had wanted to sneak into a jewelry shop to buy a small trinket from the exposition, that caught his eye, she had stopped him. Which, as he thinks about it now, won't win with his stubborness, he's determined to go there on the next occasion and buy that tiny, golden arrow necklace.

Her argument about not giving him a present either holds no actual truth, because the moment she knocked on his door, deciding to spend Christmas with his damaged heart, well that had been the greatest of gifts.

"Steve," this time it's Catherine moving their hands, placing them on her chest over her steadily pounding heart, "I don't need or want any gifts when I'm with you."

Bringing his palm to her mouth, mirroring Steve's gentle gesture from earlier, she kisses each of his knuckles, "I don't need anything," she murmurs into his skin, "With you it feels like there's nothing missing."

Almost choking on his breath, he stares at her taken aback with the simple confession that reaches so deep, tugging on his heart. The thought of being a little more complete with Catherine beside him often invades his mind, but never would he think that it could be the same for her. It seems unbelievable, being someone's missing piece, especially with his constant struggle with inner demons haunting him daily.

Steve captures her lips in a sudden, deep kiss, hand cradles her head close, until his lungs burn in need for air. When they break apart Cath's eyes are shining with emotion, taking on a new shade upon seeing tears in Steve's eyes.

Shutting them close he tries to shake off the outburst, bottling the vulnerability back up. Sensing his struggle, Cath clears her throat, "Oh, I love that movie," she motions toward the TV, where an old, black and white masterpiece is beginning. Steve nods shortly, unable to actually express the gratitude for the distraction.

In an instant he's up on his feet, pulling her up with him. They snuggle under the covers still fully clothed, Cath's body curled around Steve, her head on his shoulder and hand upon his heart. As the first tune of the movie tingles in the background, Steve whispers, "Merry Christmas, Cath."

"Merry Christmas, Steve," she replies softly as he kisses the top of her head.


End file.
